The Shape of Surrender

The squad burst through the doorway, weapons raised. On the other side, the terrorists were scattered, disorganized. A few had taken the full brunt of the flashbangs, currently curled up on the floor, groaning and writhing. Most of them, though, had escaped the blasts enough to still be mobile. To still be a threat.

As the squad poured into the room, Tor’laen hesitated for a fraction of a second, his mind going back to the shooter at the water purification plant. What if these people were just puppets as well? Being jerked along, dancing to the tune of whoever hollowed out their minds.

A quick glance told him otherwise.

Their eyes were too full of life, too full of anger and fear and hate. No one had forced them to do this.

Following Mikka’s lead, he let his instincts take over.

Two Zakkili women had their hands on their weapons — a handgun and an SMG — starting to draw the firearms. Mikka immediately dispatched one, putting two slugs into the woman’s chest and one between her eyes before her weapon was even halfway raised. The other was gunned down by two members of the squad, their bursts hammering her backward before she could bring the SMG to bear.

The Lieutenant Commander made a quick gesture, and the squad began filtering toward the back of the room, forming a semicircle as they moved toward the western side of the room — toward the sound of Chapel team’s gunfire. They would box the terrorists in, keeping them pinned in the northernmost part of the building.

The insurgents were starting to react now, moving to cover behind the fabricators, workstations and desks. A few of them simply threw themselves on the ground, hands covering their heads.

A movement from above caught Tor’laen’s attention, and he reacted instinctively. Bringing his weapon up, he brought down a Kelrana with a double burst of his SMG, taking the terrorist down even before he had fully landed on the blocky machine. The fur-covered alien toppled out of sight without a sound.

Using his height to his advantage, Tor’laen sprayed a few bursts over the desks and workstations, encouraging the insurgents to keep their heads down while the Armswomen moved into position. A soft ping sound told the Ydani his weapon was empty, and he stepped out of the open, ejecting the spent magazine.

Before he could finish reloading, a Zakkili man popped up from behind a nearby desk, some kind of shotgun clutched in his hands, and pointed it at the Ydani. Before the terrorist could fire, there was the sharp crack of a rifle. The side of the man’s head punched outward, its contents splattering against the fabricator he had been next to. Saia slid up next to Tor’laen, rifle still raised, marking the presence of Chapel team nearby. He shot her a grateful look as he slid a new magazine into his weapon, and she nodded, already scanning for more targets.

More of the insurgents were starting to enter the fight, shaking off the effects of the flashbangs. They pushed forward, a few of them shouting battle cries.

“Death to the Monarchy!”

“Free Orphila!”

Tor’laen gritted his teeth. How dare they try and disguise this as “freedom”?

There was return fire now, some of the terrorists trying to pin the Armswomen down. Tor’laen slammed his shoulder against the fabricator in front of him, taking cover. He sensed Saia doing the same, taking the other corner of the machine.

Other members of his squad and Chapel team were doing the same. Glancing over, he saw one of his squad mates lean out from cover and fire a few quick bursts. A cry from the far side of the room confirmed a hit, the Armswoman ducking back into cover to cycle a fresh magazine into place.

He glanced back, watching as the corporal peeked around the corner, only to draw back as a round skipped off the top of her helmet.

“Fuck!” Her voice came through his earpiece, now patched into the local channel.

The sound of battle was reaching a fevered pitch. The gunfire echoed off metal and hard composite, too loud and too close, and for a moment, Tor’laen wasn’t in the factory anymore. His mind was back in the corridors of a Ydani ship, emptying his weapon into hulking Cal’raz drones, the screams of the wounded and dying all around him.

As quickly as the memory came, it was gone, and the Ydani recentered himself. His squad needed him.

He waited, listening for the rhythm of the battle, the pattern of gunfire, shouts, and footsteps. There. He took a deep breath, then popped out of cover, right in front of a stunned Zakkili woman.

She was too close, much closer than he had reckoned, almost under the barrel of his gun. The terrorist started to bring her weapon to bear, and Tor’laen had only one choice.

He rushed forward, body-checking the smaller woman, his size and weight hitting her like an interceptor. She tumbled, head over heels, coming to a rest in a tangled heap, almost five feet away. Before she could raise her weapon again, the Ydani dumped a few bursts into her prone form, her body going still.

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He glanced up, finding one of his squad mates staring at him, wide-eyed. Their gazes met, and after a breath, she gave him a thumbs up, before turning back to the fight.

It was quickly turning into a rout, the greater numbers of the terrorists unable to compete with the tactics, training, or equipment of the Citadel’s forces. Tor’laen fell back into cover, looking over the small battlefield. More and more of the remaining terrorists were surrendering, throwing down their weapons and putting their hands in the air.

Movement caught his eye, near the front of the room. A Zakkili woman was stepping out of one of the fabricators, a black device clutched in her hands. He had seen enough bombs in his career to identify one by sight.

“Explosive on the field! Northeast corner! Gray clothing!” He barked, finger on his earpiece.

The Ydani raised his weapon, but kept his finger off the trigger — his line of fire was too close to his squad members. The Zakkili woman raised a hand, a small detonator visible between her fingers. Tor’laen braced for the coming explosion, diving for the cover of a nearby fabricator.

He didn’t need to.

Mikka came sliding out from between two desks, weapon perfectly level despite skidding across the floor. A single shot, and the terrorist’s brains burst from the back of her skull. She crumpled in place, falling to the ground.

Tor’laen rolled behind cover, wary of the possibility of a dead man’s switch. After a second of half the room holding its breath, no explosion came.

Tor’laen heaved himself to his feet, ejecting his nearly spent magazine and sliding another into place. Only sporadic gunfire sounded throughout the room, the spirit of the terrorists clearly broken. The Ydani kept his head on a swivel, carefully making his way toward what seemed to be the last pocket of resistance.

A group of Armswomen had surrounded one of the fabricators, where, according to the radio chatter, a pair of terrorists had holed up. The women inside were armed, but sounded like they were on the verge of surrendering.

“Come out slowly, hands first!” The sergeant of Chapel team was shouting at the box-like machine. “You’ve got thirty seconds to comply before we just chuck a grenade in there and shut the door.”

Tor’laen had almost reached the cluster of Armswomen when the desk next to him exploded into pieces with a shower of plastic shards.

A Dorrai male burst from his hiding spot under the desk, his solid body simply pushing through the flimsy material. The terrorist had a metal bar in his hand, and before the Ydani could react, he slammed it into Tor’laen’s arm.

The Ydani’s armored sleeve stopped the blow from breaking any bones, but his arm immediately went numb, the firearm falling from his weakened grip. Mercifully, the weapon hit the floor without going off, before being crumpled under the Dorrai’s foot a heartbeat later.

Tor’laen jumped back, trying to make some distance, but the attacker stuck to him stubbornly, stepping into his space once more. The Dorrai clearly realized that the only thing keeping his body from being riddled with tungsten slugs was staying too close to the Ydani for a safe shot from his allies. The man swung the bar again, and Tor’laen barely swayed out of its range, the metal whistling only an inch from his face.

No other options, then.

The Ydani was vaguely aware of the Armswomen, moving around him and shouting something, but he narrowed his focus to the foe in front of him. His left arm was still mostly useless, but he could hold it in a guard position, at least.

Tor’laen moved quickly, harrying the Dorrai with strikes from his right arm. He struck rapidly, smacking his stocky opponent against the side of his snout, followed by a knife-hand strike toward the Dorrai’s eyes.

His opponent simply tucked his head down, absorbing the blows and swinging the metal bar again. Tor’laen dodged once more, and the terrorist charged forward, trying to slam his body into the Ydani, just as Tor’laen had done to the Zakkili woman earlier.

Tor’laen nimbly sidestepped the charge, the Dorrai’s shoulder passing close enough to brush his armor, his opponent moving faster than he would have expected possible from the normally placid race. He kicked at his attacker’s knee as he dodged, trying to make the limb buckle.

The Dorrai barely seemed to notice, turning and bearing down on the Ydani, trying to get the taller fighter in a crushing embrace.

A flicker of indignation and contempt ran through Tor’laen’s mind. He had fought hand to hand with vicious Cal’raz drone forms and come out on top, with nothing but a naked blade in his hand. Just who did this herbivore think he was, to bare his teeth against an Outrunner Captain?

The Ydani pressed in, delivering a vicious haymaker to the side of the Dorrai’s head. The terrorist seemed taken aback by the sudden aggression, retaliating with a clumsy swing of the bar.

Almost casually, Tor’laen redirected the strike, deflecting the metal weapon and grabbing the Dorrai’s wrist, twisting until his attacker had to let go, the bar falling to the floor with a metallic ring.

The man reached for Tor’laen with his free hand, but the Ydani was already moving. Tor’laen nimbly circled around the shorter alien, keeping his attacker’s wrist in his grip. With a vicious jerk, he locked the Dorrai’s elbow joint, and started twisting the man’s shoulder, using his height to bear down on the terrorist.

His attacker pushed back, but the Ydani’s height and strength won out, and he drove the Dorrai face-first to the floor, twisting the alien’s arm behind his back. The terrorist tried to struggle for a long moment, before Tor’laen applied more torque to the limb, eliciting a grunt of pain from the Dorrai.

“Yield,” the Ydani growled in the terrorist’s ear, his voice low and menacing.

“How can you do this?” came the man’s grunting reply. “You are not Zakkili. How can you fight for these little green tyrants?”

The Dorrai shifted his head, turning enough to meet Tor’laen’s gaze with one baleful eye.

“Their Monarchy does nothing but consume and control. Your mind will never be safe among them!”

The words struck closer to home than the Ydani would have liked, but he put the thought from his mind. Not every Zakkili was Queen Azora.

“I’ll take my chances with them over cowards who bomb civilians and call it ‘freedom’!” Tor’laen hissed back, twisting the man’s arm a fraction more.

The Dorrai struggled for a few seconds more, then seemed to give up, going limp in the Ydani’s grasp. After a moment, Tor’laen became aware of a pair of combat boots, only a foot from his head. He looked up to find Mikka grinning down at him, helmet tucked under her arm.

“Tor’laen…nice fucking work, man.”